


The Incomplete Recounting of Four Nonconsecutive Tuesdays in the Spring of 2002

by BrujaBanter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Obviously), (Your Guess Is As Good As Mine How Those Got In Here), (super brief), 1970s Movie Spoilers, Angst, Brief Allusions to Suicidality, Brief Mentions of Postpartum Mental Illness, Dark Humor, Emotional Healing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Humor, Improper/Ableist Use of Psychiatric Terms, Iranian Sirius, It's Not Super Relevant to the Fic I Just Want You to Know, Like IDK Even How to Categorize This Fic, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Nymphadora Tonks Lives, Remus Lupin Lives, Sirius Black Lives, Sirius and Remus Go to Therapy, Therapy, about damn time, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25946758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrujaBanter/pseuds/BrujaBanter
Summary: A Few Reasons Remus Suggested They Pursue Couple's Counseling:1. Sirius was DEAD (no matter how many times he says he wasn't, which is a lot), so that's bloody complicated.2. They're a "blended family" now and, well, that's also bloody complicated.3. Sirius Black is an utter fucking mess.4. They can't just have sex all the time. They can't. Well, maybe they....no, no. They really can't.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 27
Kudos: 120
Collections: Wolfstar Hurt Fest





	The Incomplete Recounting of Four Nonconsecutive Tuesdays in the Spring of 2002

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there, reader!! You look so cute today.
> 
> Let me start with the disclaimer that this is a bit unorthodox. I intended to write a very emotional, very angsty fic, but what came out is one part humor, one part angst, one part emotional exploration. 
> 
> Disclaimer Part II: I am not a couple's counselor. This is probably not what actually happens in couple's counseling. 
> 
> There are no content warnings that aren't in the tags. For the most part, no majorly triggering themes are explored here and there is no graphic detailing of any trauma or violence. The "M" rating is for the very final scene, which is brief and rather unrelated to the rest of the fic so, ace/otherwise smut-averse pals, just skip it if you'd like! I'm just not capable of writing a wolfstar fic without sex.
> 
> So without further ado, my prompt was: "After all the terrible things that happened to them in canon, somehow Sirius and Remus are reunited after the end of DH (your pick of how that happened). They then seek therapy to learn how to adjust to being alive and getting over the accumulated trauma from both wars and the losses it brought them."
> 
> Thank you, prompter! Thank you, mods! And thank YOU, reader!! I hope you're having an amazing day. Enjoy this weird thing I wrote.

**First, A Brief Summary of the Joint MLE/MSCU “Unveiling Our Safety” Initiative, and How It Led to the Return of One Sirius Orion Black (Amongst Others)**

In September of 2001, America went to shit and Sirius Black came back from the dead.

The two were, actually, related.

Voldemort had been dead for just over three years, the British Empire had been dead for over thirty, and Wizarding England was still coming to terms with their rather inconvenient tendency to regularly succumb to fascism. As Muggle Britain began vigorously tightening their security measures, the newly reformed Ministry of Magic thought it prudent to do the same. So, one week after the British helped the Americans invade Afghanistan, The Ministry invaded their own backlog.

Anyone who's ever complained about governmental disorganization never took a look inside the filing cabinets in The Department of Mysteries. The cabinets themselves tended to emit any one of a variety of noises upon opening: roars, growls, eerie predictions in hoarse, hazy voices, the sounds of breaking glass and screaming people. Once, a particularly unlucky intern was knocked out for several hours when the cry of an adolescent Mandrake greeted him upon breach. It took several governmental automatons to make it through the vast backlog of unexamined research, but no sooner had they finished than the budget cuts hit.

The Ministry of Magic is a government organization, mind you, and with the loss of taxpayer money from wizards who had fled the country or willingly expatriated or…well…died in the war, concessions had to be made. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a reasonable man, but he was practical, and any department that could not prove their worth risked significant defunding. So, in the end, it was nothing but plain financial pragmatism that brought Sirius Black back to life.

The Unspeakables quickly got to work on proving themselves imminently useful. The problem was that, by nature, no one was quite sure _what_ they did, exactly. Now, don’t misunderstand. They did… _things_ , they toyed with multidimensional spellwork and researched the effects of love on biological wizarding magic and conducted experiments with time travel on rats (the vast majority of which, unfortunately, always seemed to leave some part of their vital anatomy in another time and place). One particularly odd group of Unspeakables spent countless hours examining the possibilities of wizard-animal hybrids. Interesting, but not _practical_ , so they began thinking outside the box. No one knows exactly who it was that made the initial discovery – it is hotly debated to this day – but one nondescript morning in the fall, a short, wiry-haired witch by the name of Quaroleen Einstein (yes, as in _those_ Einsteins) arranged a meeting with the head of Magical Law Enforcement (MLE) and the overseers of the Magical Spending Consolidation Unit (MSCU) and promised to deliver news that would be of a great deal of interest to them.

She proposed an entirely new way to house wizards who were awaiting trial. Her argument was compelling. As domestic and international security measures tightened, the Aurors were apprehending more and more witches and wizards and holding them under guise of “further investigation into possible terrorism-related activities”. Meanwhile, former prisoners who had been held in Azkaban under Voldemort’s rule were speaking out about the conditions of the prison, and it was causing a real PR problem. But, Quaroleen proposed, what if said witches and wizards could be held in a space that would a) hold infinite people without the restraints of physical space limitations, b) present zero risk of possible escape, and c) be much more humane than housing prisoners awaiting trial in Azkaban?

See, as it turned out, after years of tireless research on the part of her team of vastly underappreciated Metaphysical Unspeakables (who would, as you might have guessed, all soon receive pay raises of undisclosed amounts), they had made an important discovery about the multidimensional portal located in The Room of Thanatological Artifacts (what used to be known as “The Death Chamber”) heretofore known colloquially as “The Veil”.

“The Veil” was always thought to be a one-way portal which, when passed through by any witch, wizard, or other living being, resulted in their essential death. (This assumption was probably made by one of its earliest researchers in the late 18thcentury who, upon study of the mysterious artifact, became so obsessed with its uses that his wife of twenty years left him, taking their three children and her vast fortune with her. Rumor has it that upon hearing news of her absconding, the scientist was overheard describing The Veil as “a one-way portal to hell”.) This, Quaroleen reported, was in fact nothing more than an unfortunate scientific misunderstanding.

For many months, her team had successfully attempted multiple “trips” into and out of The Veil using a simple Bifurcation Spell uttered by a witch or wizard who remained just outside the portal. Each witch or wizard who had taken “the journey” (Quaroleen included) reported being conscious of the moment they entered The Veil, and the moment the exited The Veil, but no memory of what occurred when they were behind The Veil, regardless of time elapsed. (Minimum elapsed time was thirty seconds; maximum elapsed time was six months and fourteen days. As an aside, Quaroleen and her entire team wish to extend most sincere apologies to the family of one John Godric DuPont, who suffered several months of not knowing their beloved son’s whereabouts.) They concluded that it could be done safely, painlessly, and without danger to mental status, life, or limb.

The possibilities were endless. Quaroleen spent the remainder of the day, and much of the next, demonstrating the science to the overseers. It was only on day three that the undersecretary of the group, tasked with taking diligent notes on the process, asked if Quaroleen’s discovery also concluded that those who had most unfortunately _fallen_ through The Veil years prior could possibly also be retrieved. She was not sure, but her voracious appetite for scientific curiosity would not be satiated until she knew.

And thus, on the morning of 3 November, 2001, select journalists and a few high ranking Magical and Muggle officials watched on as, one by one, Quaroleen brought each of the forty-three people who had fallen into The Veil since its inception in 1707, more or less, back to life. 

Sirius Orion Black was the last to walk out of The Veil, by which point all the reporters and government officials were busied with interviewing the survivors, holding urgent conference calls, or, in the case of one Muggle official, passing out cold on the cement floor. However, one Daily Prophet reporter overheard Mr. Black saying, immediately upon exiting The Veil, “What the bloody fuck is going on?”

**Week One: March 12, 2002**

She calls them into her office at two minutes past three, which means this will all be over in exactly forty-eight minutes. Not that they’re counting.

(It’s just Sirius that's counting.)

Unsurprisingly, this was all Remus’s idea. Sirius intends to tell her that. He intends to tell her that their relationship is just fine, thank you very much, and _he_ is just fine, thank you very much, and then he will cross his legs and fold his arms and sit silently, saying nothing as loudly as he possibly can.

Remus holds his hand as they walk over the threshold, rather like newlyweds except not like newlyweds at all. The office is warm – not in feeling, necessarily, just in the liberal use of Heating Charms – and spacious enough. The walls are painted a shade of light sage green that looks like it was created for the explicit purpose of calming anxious people (it’s not working, by the way. Not that Sirius is anxious. He’s just fine, thank you very much.) There is a large, blue couch on one end of the room, and a beige armchair in the middle. On the opposite side of the room is a white corner desk topped with one of those odd Muggle typing contraptions, a neat row of well-tended plants, and a half-empty cup of coffee (or is it half-full? Sirius is confident that he better not say either out loud, lest the therapist get the impression that he is a pessimist. Or worse, an optimist. He’s just going to say nothing, okay?)

The therapist herself seems…fine. She looks younger than either Remus or himself, and he would go ahead and feel condescending about that, but him and Remus don’t exact look their age anymore. She is tall and big-boned, with a black pixie haircut and red-rimmed glasses and big, dark eyes. She’s pretty. Not that Sirius has noticed. Or cares. He doesn’t even remember her name, okay?

He’s just here for Remus.

The therapist gestures for them to sit on the couch, and then takes a seat across from them in the beige armchair. She looks comfortable there, ankles crossed and hands clasped over her patterned skirt. Remus even looks rather comfortable. Of course, he’s done this before. Sirius, on the other hand, would have sooner up and died than reveal his deepest secrets to a complete stranger with a PhD and a pretentious office in Marylebone. (Of course, he sort of did up and die, which is a not-insignificant part of why they are here at all.)

The therapist whose name Sirius doesn’t even know begins talking.

“Welcome, I’m glad you’re here,” She says in a deeper, more melodic tone than Sirius had been expecting. “My name is Riya Khatri. You can call me Riya. What brings you in today?”

Are they allowed to just… _ask_ that?

Both Remus and Riya look at him. It appears that he’s actually said that last part out loud. He didn’t mean to. That’s happened occasionally, since…it’s really just an odd little quirk. Just a symptom of age. Nothing to worry about.

“Would you like to start with something else?” Riya asks, very calmly. _Annoyingly_ calmly.

“Er…no,” Sirius responds. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean to…no.”

“Okay,” Riya responds. She’s so very…pastoral. “Well, let me ask it in a different way. What was it that finally made you seek couple’s counseling?”

Are they allowed to just _ask that??_

“Sirius was dead,” Remus says, as if placing his lunch order.

Riya makes a nondescript little “hmm” sound as if this is a common problem she encounters from couples, and flicks her wand in the direction of the small end table to her right, on which a quill comes to life and begins scribbling all on its own in a small leather notepad.

“I wasn’t _dead_ , Remus,” Sirius counters.

“You might as well have been,” Remus says back, not taking his eyes off of Riya.

“It was a brief period spent behind–”

“Here we go.”

“–A multidimensional plane of existence–”

“Rather like death.”

“–During which time I was in _suspended animation_ –”

“Right, like when you’re dead.”

“–which is not the same thing as being _dead_ –”

“Sure seems like it.”

“– _Meanwhile_ it took _you_ all of _four months_ before you off and _consummated_ my apparent ‘death’ with–”

“I’m going to interrupt you,” Riya says, though her tone is rather non-interruptive. “Let’s take a different approach.”

Five minutes in and they’re already warranting the “different approach”. Sirius would be proud if he wasn’t so annoyed. Also, he _isn’t_ planning on talking, that was just a momentary lapse because Remus Lupin can just be so fucking–

“How long have you two been together?” Riya asks, as if they weren’t talking about bloody resurrection thirty seconds ago.

Remus and Sirius exchange a quick glance.

“Oh,” Remus answers. “Erm…well, it’s a bit complicated.”

Riya makes a “go on” gesture with her hand, and Remus does. In as few words as possible (which is still rather many) he summarizes the complexities of their relationship, the time spent “together” and “apart” and “wishing I were dead” (Remus’s words, not Sirius’s) and by the time Remus has gotten through explaining the first war and James and Lily and Azkaban and the second war and The Veil, Riya’s face has slowly melted into an expression of abject horror.

“Oh my,” Is all she says when Remus is finally done. She takes off her glasses and folds them, placing them on the table next to the quill, which has filled up every remaining page in its accompanying notebook and is now writing furiously on the table itself. Riya doesn’t seem to notice. She places her elbows on her knees and leans into them, and when she speaks, it is as if she is trying to communicate with an especially skittish cat. “That is an awful lot of trauma for two people to endure.”

Sirius _hates_ that word, “trauma”. “Trauma” is a word you use to describe an orphan, all sad and pathetic and parentless and lost. It’s a word you use to describe experiencing true horrors, like…like…well, you know, like _rape_ and _torture_ and such and yes, okay, _technically_ Sirius has experienced the Cruciatus Curse on more than one occasion and _technically_ that counts as torture, and, yes, it so happens that the consequences of his actions _left_ a child orphaned, but that’s just not the same as…

And then his thoughts stop, because Riya is extending a box of tissues to Remus, who is taking it from her with a so-very-Remus-like “thank you”, and he’s taking it because he is crying.

“Remus?” Sirius asks, turning to his intermittent partner of nearly twenty years and watching him wipe a few errant tears from his glimmering amber eyes with a tissue. He doesn’t understand why Remus is crying, but he knows he should be the one wiping his tears, so he closes the several inches of space between them and, without even thinking, grasps either side of Remus’s face in his palms and brushes the lingering tears away with his thumbs.

Remus gives him a small, reassuring smile, and brings his own hands up to grip Sirius’s forearms tenderly. “I’m okay, Pads,” He says. “It’s just that…she’s _right_. I don’t know how we’ve survived it all, you and I.”

Sirius blinks at him. “But…but we _have_. Isn’t that all that matters?”

And Remus looks just the way he did twenty years ago when he stares Sirius right in the eye and slowly shakes his head.

“Oh,” Sirius says back, small, resigned.

And then he actually does remember why they are here: because Remus needs them to be. Because being alive is not enough. Because they aren’t actually all that old, and Sirius wants to spend the rest of his life with Remus. Because Remus needs _Sirius_ , specifically, to be here. Because he would walk right back through The Veil all on his own if it’s what Remus needed.

Sirius sighs, places his hands back in his lap, and turns towards Riya. She is watching them closely and, to his surprise, it doesn’t feel invasive, it doesn't feel like she is a spectator at a particularly dull tennis match. Instead, she rather looks reverent, thankful, as if there is some sort of honor in her getting to witness these very private moments between them.

He _loves_ these very private moments between them.

So he swallows his pride and his cynicism and the saliva that has accumulated in his mouth and summons his inner James Potter – the truest Gryffindor of them all – and decides that he needs Remus to be fine just as much as he needs to be, _is_ really, fine. He will do this. For Remus, he will do this.

He takes a deep breath, and then speaks. “I was dead,” He begins.

**Week Two: March 19, 2002**

They have homework. Sirius, who was always notably resistant to the mere concept of homework back in school, is eager to get started. This is probably because their homework involves sex, which is, appropriately, something their homework at Hogwarts never touched on.

This came as more of a surprise to Remus (who had already spent a great many years in and out of therapy) than it did to Sirius (who rather thinks everything should be about sex and didn’t seem to think any differently of therapy). It wasn’t, specifically, supposed to be about sex. Towards the end of their rather harried first session, Riya asked them if there was an "activity or hobby" they enjoyed doing together in which they felt totally in synch, like they understood each other completely.

Sirius was stifling a childish giggle as soon as she said it. Remus was not sure if sex counted as an “activity or hobby”. But Riya had assured them that it did (rather to Remus’s chagrin, mind you), and instructed them to pay special attention the next time they, erm…practiced. She wanted them to notice what it was that seemed to keep them so in synch, what non-verbal communication (and, on Sirius’s end, rather verbal communication) seemed to help, how they felt about themselves and their bodies and each other in the process (Sirius stifled another laugh at the “bodies” part). On one hand, Remus didn’t love that Sirius was quite so eager to “practice their activity”, but on the other hand, Remus really loved that Sirius was so eager to practice their activity.

So one week later, they returned to the modest little office hidden behind an enchanted telephone pole on Harley Street, ready to report back on their…er, findings.

“The thing is,” Sirius begins, almost as soon as they sit down, “Remus and I have always had good sex.”

Okay, so Remus doesn’t _love_ this. Yes, therapy was his idea. And yes, he does absolutely feel it is necessary. But he didn’t expect to get to this _quite_ so soon, if at all, and he’s not entirely comfortable with it. He’s not entirely comfortable with anything, ever. But he’s _especially_ not entirely comfortable with discussing his sex life with a woman they have known for all of a single week.

“Tell me more about that,” Riya says, and Remus crosses one leg over the other protectively.

Sirius shrugs. “Well, we’ve been doing it a hell of a long time. We’ve had lots of practice.”

“ _Sirius_ ,” Remus says, cheeks turning bright red.

“Is this not a comfortable topic for you, Remus?” Riya asks.

“N-no,” Remus stutters. He feels rather like he is messing up an important exam directly in front of the teacher. “No, it’s fine. I just…it’s just…”

“Remus is a bit bashful,” Sirius stage whispers to Riya. “Outside of the bedroom, I mean. _Inside_ the bedroom, he’s–”

“ _Sirius!_ ” This time he actually feels himself slink back into the couch, as if desperately hoping it has a built-in Disillusionment feature that activates if you lean into it hard enough.

“I understand that sex is often a sensitive topic for people,” Riya says compassionately. “Remus, why don’t we start with something else, okay? We can come back around to this.”

Remus smiles thankfully at Riya but still notices Sirius’s smirk at her use of the word “come”.

“I was actually hoping we could return to a topic we didn’t get much time to discuss last week,” Riya says. Remus is desperately hoping this topic has mostly to do with Sirius, so he can have a moment to regain his composure. But she turns to look at him, specifically. “Remus, I wonder if you could tell me more about your family? Your son and,” She glances at her notepad, “Ex-wife?”

“Erm, right,” He readjusts himself on the couch so that he hopefully looks a bit less like a frightened jackalope. “They’re, er…well, she is…we’re not…”

“Does this make you uncomfortable as well, Remus?” Riya asks.

Remus wishes she’d stop asking that. He’d much prefer his discomfort to be unspoken, thank you. “A bit,” He answers honestly.

Riya is silent, just continues looking at him reassuringly, apparently waiting for him to continue on his own.

“It’s just that, it’s rather… _new_ , and I’m not entirely used to talking about it yet.”

“The divorce is new?” Riya asks, and he knows she’s just clarifying, but he can’t help but feel judged.

Remus nods.

“Was it precipitated by Sirius’s return?”

(“Return” is a rather neutral word for it, but Remus lets it slide.)

“No,” He says at first. “Well, yes. And no. But…yes, I suppose so.”

The self-writing quill on the end table next to Riya’s chair lets out a frustrated little huff and keeps crossing off words with rather more sass than an inanimate object should.

“Sorry,” He says. (And yes, he did just apologize to a quill.) “I guess I mean that, it’s complicated. We weren’t doing particularly well, but I suppose Sirius was the final straw.”

Riya nods. Sirius stares at his feet. He’s back to feeling like therapy is not fun.

“And what is your relationship like now?” Riya asks, and Remus is happy she didn’t ask him to expand more on their breakup. She gestures between Sirius and Remus, “All three of you.”

Sirius looks up. “Oh,” He says, apparently forgetting he was a part of this conversation at all. “Well, I’m not really…”

“Sirius is my ex-wife’s cousin,” Remus interrupts.

(They both take a moment to feel very sorry for Riya, who can’t possibly have been trained for this.)

“Oh,” Riya says, and blessedly leaves it at that. “Erm,” She turns to Sirius now, “How do you feel about that?”

(You really must realize, Remus _never_ would have gotten together with Tonks if there was _any_ way he could have predicted this exact conversation being even a remote possibility.)

“It’s fine,” Sirius says, but it comes out quickly and his voice is entirely flat. Even he recognizes that he sounds like an automated recording, programmed to say whatever will deflect questions of this kind as quickly as possible.

“Sirius is jealous,” Remus says, and Sirius shoots him an initial look of anger, but it softens.

“Is that true, Sirius?” Riya asks.

Sirius pauses this time before he speaks. “I don’t know that I’m _jealous_ , exactly.” He brings his thumb to his mouth and begins chewing on the skin around his nail, another habit he’s picked up since The Veil. “I just wish…I mean, I _love_ Teddy, I do, I just wish that I’d been here. That Remus wouldn’t have…”

“That I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to get together with Tonks,” Remus finishes for him.

Sirius nods, hesitantly. There’s something uncomfortably honest about this line of conversation, about admitting that Tonks was, in some way, a second choice. It makes Remus squirm and his stomach bubble, a familiar little tingling of shame creeping up behind his throat. He loved Tonks. He _loves_ Tonks.

“But not as much as you love Sirius?” Riya asks. Had he said that last part out loud too?

Remus shakes his head, small and child-like, like admitting to breaking his mother’s favorite lamp or sneaking into the attic to take an early peek at his Christmas presents.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Sirius says a little under his breath, surprising both Riya and Remus. When he realizes he’s been heard, he tucks his legs under himself on the couch and straightens his back. He’s not said this out loud before. He’s not said this _not_ out loud before. “I think Remus loves Tonks just as much,” Sirius says to Riya. “I think they would have been perfectly happy if I hadn’t gone and fucked it all up. I do that a lot.” The last part is a throwaway statement, a thing that comes out automatically like a cough or a sneeze. “He thinks he loves me more because we’ve been through so much together. It’s easier to love someone when you lose them over and over again. But he was better off with Tonks. He’d _still_ be better off with Tonks.”

Remus is staring at him wide-eyed, shocked. “Sirius, what… _where_ is all this coming from?”

Sirius shrugs, goes back to chewing on the skin around his thumbnail.

“Remus,” Riya says, “it sounds like you weren’t aware Sirius felt this way.”

It takes Remus a moment to pry his appalled eyes from Sirius and look at Riya again. “No,” He says, “no, I had _no idea_ he felt this way.”

Riya nods at him. “Sirius,” she turns to Sirius, “have you tried to express this feeling to him before?”

“No,” He says, as if the question itself is absurd. “No, of course not.”

“I wonder, then,” Riya asks invitingly, “how you thought Remus would know this is how you felt?”

Sirius looks and sounds the way he did whenever he and James got caught doing something completely forbidden, all mock indignation at the mere suggestion, except now it is entirely genuine. “ _Know_? Why on earth would I want him to _know_?!”

There are times when it is crystal clear to Remus that Sirius spent the first sixteen years of his life in a home in which nothing truly worth saying was ever spoken aloud. This is one of those times. He’s lost, somewhere between heartbroken and utterly confounded, and _this_ is why he suggested therapy to begin with.

Riya launches into a practiced explanation about family systems and communication styles, the lasting impact of things we are taught as children about which feelings are acceptable to share and which aren’t. When she asks Sirius if he was encouraged to share his feelings aloud as a child, Sirius laughs, out loud, and Remus chuckles a bit too, because it’s funny in the least humorous way possible.

And Christ, they’re only two weeks into this.

“I wonder, Sirius,” Riya says, “If you’d be willing to practice something. It’s going to feel uncomfortable – and it’s alright if you aren’t ready – but I wonder if you’d be willing to look at Remus, and tell him what you just told me?”

Sirius blinks at her a few times, and then to Remus’s complete shock, looks at him and does just that.

“You would…” And then Sirius remembers last week, and Riya’s insistence that they use ‘I feel’ statements. “I _feel_ like you would…like Tonks was better for you. Because she…well, I don’t know.”

It doesn’t take a degree in psychology for Remus to understand that Sirius does, very much, “know” exactly. 

“Sirius,” He says, “tell me. Please.”

“She’s not _bloody fucking mental_ , Moony. I am.”

One night, just after Teddy was born, Remus awoke around 3 in the morning to find he was the only one in the bed. He searched their modest house, found Teddy sleeping peacefully in his bassinet, but he couldn’t find Tonks anywhere. Panicking, he called her mum, who hadn’t heard from her but was all too happy to come over and join Remus in his panic. Together, they paced and worried and bounced Teddy on their knees and called everyone they could think of, none of whom knew where she was either. Three days later, Tonks returned, hair bright lavender and jeans torn. Remus was absolutely beside himself, didn’t know whether to yell at her or hug her or check her for curses, so he did all three. Turns out, Tonks had been struggling since Teddy’s birth with Postpartum Psychosis and was too ashamed to say anything, so one night she just up and left. She wasn’t thinking clearly, obviously, but she wasn’t planning on returning either. While she was gone, she did things neither of them ever really addressed directly and then grew weary enough that she returned home simply for the sake of sleeping in a warm bed and having a square meal.

They got her help, of course, and she slowly got better. She’s a great mum to Teddy, when she has the support she needs. But all this to say that, strictly speaking, Sirius is wrong. 

Remus doesn’t explain any of this, though. Because this is not the kind of “mental” Sirius is referring to and he knows it, and he can’t actually… _disagree_ with Sirius. Because Sirius? Is a Portkey to burning hell, a Quidditch game in the middle of a tornado, an unstable potion with undiscovered properties. He is joy and pain and ecstasy and agony and everything in between. And Remus, Merlin help him, loves every sodding moment of it.

“Yes,” Remus says finally. “Yes, that’s true.”

They stare at each other blankly for several seconds, and then they both break into a cackling, hysterical laugh. They laugh so hard and so long that they are doubled over on top of each other, stomachs cramping and tears leaking from their eyes. They must look _insane_ , but Riya just smiles and lets them carry on until they’ve finally pulled themselves together enough to sit back up and apologize through strangled throats.

“It’s a good sign you two can still laugh so heartily together,” Riya says, and he might be mistaken, but Remus thinks he sees something like jealousy spark behind her eyes.

“We laugh and we fuck,” Sirius says through a final chuckle. “It’s the two things we have going for us.”

Remus doesn’t feel embarrassed this time, mostly because he’s just all but had a manic fit on Riya’s couch. But also because…well, because it’s true.

“Tonks and I stopped laughing at all, really,” Remus says. He’s more reflecting aloud than he is actually saying anything he thinks might be therapeutically beneficial, just sitting in the relief of speaking things that have been living in his throat so long a lump has formed around them. “And that’s when I knew it had to end. You’ve never met her,” He says to Riya, “but Tonks is…”

“Tonks is _brilliant_ ,” Sirius finishes. “Dead funny.”

Remus smiles, half because it’s true and half because Sirius can acknowledge that it’s true. “Yes. She is. And I was draining her, I think. Christ, by the end, her hair was _black_. She looked like a bloody widow.”

“Do you think she would agree with you, Remus?” Riya asks.

Remus thinks back to the day it all finally ended, a week after Sirius’s return. He was certain they’d been dancing circles around the end for months, but Tonks damn well wasn’t going to be the one to say anything, having made such a fuss of getting them together in the first place. That’s how he did it – bloody coward that he is, disgrace to the name of Gryffindor – convinced himself it was what _she_ wanted. And Tonks, who _is_ brilliant, was having none of it. She straightened up to her tallest height and crossed her thin arms over her broad shoulders and stood stock-still, looking like the most graceful being in the world. “If you want to break up with me, Remus Lupin,” She said, “Then you’re going to have to say it. Look at me, and tell me that’s what you want.”

And he did. And Tonks nodded a firm, curt acknowledgement. And she turned on her heel, and walked right into an end table.

Remus explains all this – to Riya, who would have no way of knowing, and to Sirius, who knew to never ask – and smiles fondly because Tonks is…well, she’s brilliant. She’s brilliant and their love was too, for a little while, and none of that would matter anyway because the being they created together is the whole fucking world.

“She’s far too stubborn to ever agree with me,” Remus says in conclusion. “But secretly, yes, I think she would. She’s much happier now. She’s started dating a woman from her department. Last time we saw her she had bright pink eyebrows. She’s better off.”

Sirius looks pensive now, and Remus doesn’t know why, so he does something truly revolutionary and just asks.

“I just wonder,” Sirius responds, and his honesty is just as revolutionary, “If Moony can’t help but be drawn to lovers who are a bit barmy. His record certainly betrays him.”

Remus looks at his shoes, because Sirius is just pondering aloud, but he's afraid there’s some truth to that.

“What do you mean by that, Sirius?” Riya asks in her most therapeutic tone. “What is it that you and Remus’s ex-wife have that makes you feel as if you are both ‘barmy’?”

Sirius was clearly not expecting to be interrogated on this statement, because he looks a little insulted. He opens his mouth for another instinctive throwaway reply – “I mean, _look at me_ , Doc!” – but he’s always been a quick learner, so he shuts it again and reaches for earnestness.

“It’s the blood,” He says, this time honestly. “It’s the sodding Black blood. It’s…bloody _cursed_. Andromeda – Tonks’s mum – she got away from it young. But I don’t think that can fix it all, entirely. I think there’s something…oh, what do the Muggles call it? Something hereditary.”

Riya begins to explain that mental illness does often run in families, but she pauses once she realizes that’s not quite what Sirius meant.

“No, it’s like…” He reaches for the proper words. “It’s like we’re all atoning for the sins of our forbearers. Sometimes I think the victims of all the horrible things the Blacks have done are haunting me, and Tonks too. Like there’s a darkness there we can’t escape. I think that if people get too close, it starts to rub off on them. And I think…I think Remus is drawn to that. Because he thinks he’s dark too.”

Despite the rather significant advances in half-breed destigmatization made over the past few years – some of which is due to Remus, himself – they’ve still not broached the whole “Werewolf Thing”. There is a law – The Magical Health Disclosure Act of 1999, or some such thing – that would prevent Riya from sharing it. But still, Remus holds the secret close to his chest like a handful of playing cards, always afraid of what series of symbols and assumptions and horrors will be on those cards if he shows them to the wrong people.

Riya doesn’t pry, she just turns to Remus for confirmation and he nods in agreement, conceding to a truth the likes of which only Sirius Black can truly reveal.

And that’s when Riya launches into an educational session on some concept called “codependency”. She pulls some worksheets from her filing cabinet and asks Remus and Sirius to fill them out over the following week, and by the time she is done talking about it Remus thinks maybe this term was invented just to describe him, specifically.

To Sirius’s delight, they do finally make it back around to the sex. To Remus’s delight, they only have a few moments left in the appointment by the time they do. 

“It’s the best thing in the world,” Sirius says, biting the skin around his thumb again. “It’s – _fuck_ – it’s the easiest thing in the world, and _nothing_ is easy anymore.”

Remus isn’t prepared for this, was expecting unnecessarily gratuitous details of things he’d really rather keep entirely private. But Sirius is earnest. Sirius is sincere. Sirius is… _Merlin’s Tit’s, is Sirius Black beating him at therapy?_

“Because…” Sirius says, in response to the ‘Why do you think that is?’ that Riya posited while Remus was pondering how to gain back his competitive edge. Sirius shrugs, a movement that indicates indisputability but not dismissal. “Because he knows exactly what I need, somehow. He knows me better than anyone.”

 _That’s not true_ , Remus thinks. _James…_

But he doesn’t finish the thought, because he can’t finish the thought, because despite a lot of therapy and meditation and Calming Potions and even bloody jogging, there are things kept in old, stained boxes in the back of Remus’s mind. They’ve grown dusty and the tape keeping them closed has lost its stick and to open them would risk exposing whole colonies of spiders and doxies alike. He can talk about the boxes – _that one, there, is James Potter, the best friend we ever had_ and _this, here, is where I keep every full moon 1975-1978_ – but he doesn’t open them, doesn’t reveal the little mementos and photographs and memories inside.

“Better than _a_ _nyone_ ,” Sirius emphasizes, looking right at Remus, and sometimes Remus forgets that Sirius knows him better than anyone too.

He blushes. He’s a little embarrassed, and moderately flattered, and overwhelmingly overcome with adoration. He kisses Sirius, right there on the couch, and that he's willing to do so at all surprises them both.

Riya just smiles at them. “Right then,” She says. “Keep practicing!” And Remus thinks he sees her shoot them a little wink and he thinks he sees Sirius shoot her one back and he doesn’t even mind, just grabs Sirius’s hand in his and gives it a little squeeze he hopes conveys more than a tightening of fingers.

“Oh, before I forget!” Riya takes a piece of parchment from the drawer of her side table and hands it to Sirius. “This starts Monday.”

Sirius takes the parchment from her and holds it so both he and Remus can see it. A stock photo of good-looking, ethnically diverse witches and wizards look up at them, laughing dramatically and grasping each other on the shoulder.

 _**“Beyond the Veil”: A Support Group for Survivors of The Veil  
**_ _(Sponsored by The Department of Magical Law Enforcement,_ _The Magical Spending Consolidation Unit,_ _and The Endowment for the Restoration and Retrieval of Multidimensional Calamities)_

**And Now, An Arbitrary Interjection to Describe the Events of a Summer Afternoon in 1977: Or, How the Marauders Discovered the 1970 American Romance Film, “Love Story”**

One summer, when Sirius had run away from home and was living with James - and James was madly in love with a Lily who didn’t love him back yet - Peter and Remus spent a week with them. For whatever reason, James, who cycled through hobbies like levers on a switchboard, was at the moment obsessed with Muggle films. “It’s basically _magic_ ,” He’d say excitedly, and the rest of them would exchange glances behind his back that indicated they all thought this most recent interest had a bit more to do with a desire to impress a certain Muggle-born redhead. Nevertheless, the four of them spent an entire week holed up in Mr. Potter’s study with a huge collection of whatever Muggle tapes they could find. They burnt through stockpiles of chocolate frogs and Bernie Botts and drank Butterbeer by the gallon. At night, they curled into thin, lumpy sleeping bags on the hardwood floor and slept like only 16-year-old boys can.

One rainy afternoon, when they’d worked their way through Bruce Lee and anything that promised potential nudity, James put on this cheesy American film about two idiots who fall in love despite the male character's father’s threats to cut his son off from the family inheritance (“bit close to home, mate,” Sirius had teased him). Blame the hormones or the angst or the mysticism of American college life, but that day, four awkward teenage wizards discovered their Favorite Muggle Movie.

Peter was fascinated by the concept of relationships so strong they overcame anything and people who’d turn their backs on their own families for the sake of loyalty. James saw himself in a man who loved a woman so desperately that he had begun to feel she was worth losing everything else for. And Sirius and Remus? They watched two heterosexual youths traipse arm-and-arm through thick New York snow and hold each other in a hospital bed and say ridiculously nonsensical things like “love means never having to say you’re sorry”, all the while holding each other’s hands under a knitted afghan. 

Sirius started crying – which wasn’t all that unusual that summer – and James thought it had to do with his family and Peter left to locate some soup to calm him and only Remus understood that they weren’t tears of sadness. They looked into each other’s eyes and spoke through silence and dilated pupils and magic, _love doesn’t ever feel like this in real life, but I’m in love with you and it feels like this in real life_. And then they smiled huge, toothy smiles at each other and kissed for the first time, and James made a vaguely crude whooping noise, and Peter dropped the tray of chicken noodle he was carrying, and they watched the rest of the film leaning into each other, shoulder to shoulder. And then it ended, and _James_ started crying, and he owled Lily and told the three of them about how he’d take her to Paris one day, and New York too if she wanted, and they all thought they were going to live forever. 

Their first night back at Hogwarts the following September, Lily walked right up to James in the Gryffindor common room and kissed him. When she finally let him go, James stood dumbfounded and started rambling apologies for a whole multitude of past transgressions. Lily smiled at him, and let him ramble, and then cut him off with another kiss and said “love means never having to say you’re sorry”. And so James wrote Ali MacGraw a fan letter she never received because the owl he used dropped it somewhere on the way to California, and it remained James’s favorite movie forever. Over the course of their relationship, James said a lot of “I’m sorry”s, but in his wedding vows, he promised he’d crawl right into Lily’s death bed with her and hold her until the very end.

Ali MacGraw lives in New Mexico now, and James and Lily died over twenty meters apart.

**Week Five: April 9, 2002**

Sometimes, Sirius and Remus each feel like the weight of their love will crush them. Sometimes, they are so in love that nothing else matters and no one else exists and everything that is bad is somehow good because it is bad but they are together. Sometimes, there is no romance – Shakespearean or literary or cinematic or otherwise – that could possible match what it is like to come onto each other’s stomachs and say each other’s names.

And Sometimes, it is a miracle that they don’t go right on and _Avada Kedavra_ each other.

It’s been one of those weeks.

They look like roosters who’ve been removed from a cockfighting ring after they’ve pecked each other so thoroughly they’ve no choice but to declare a draw. They stare at each other from opposite ends of Riya’s couch like siblings who’ve been squabbling over the telly remote. Resentment leaks out of them like raw sewage. Palpable frustration fills the air like one-too-many similes in an overly-ambitious fanfiction.

They’ve been fighting. Constantly. No sooner had they arrived home from last week’s session than they started tearing into each other with the canine claws they only let out when they really, _truly_ can’t be held back any longer. They bicker, sometimes, over dinner plans and who’ll do the shopping that week, but it’s playful and loving and sometimes even erotic. _This_ was none of those, not whimsical banter, but truly juvenile declarations of accusation and sarcasm and years-old transgression, all of which they hurdled at each other like water balloons. And as if _that_ wasn’t childish enough, what started it all was a birthday party. 

Teddy was to be turning four in just a couple weeks, and Remus and Sirius had been in talks with Tonks about throwing him a party at theirs when Tonks expressed that she just wasn’t feeling up to it this year, and suggested instead that she and Remus spend a quiet day with Teddy at the beach.

Remus hadn’t yet mentioned it to Sirius – thinking, apparently falsely, that Sirius would be rather uninvested in a Wendell the Warlock themed birthday party and wouldn’t care a wink about the change – until it crossed his mind as they unpacked their takeaway after their session with Riya. Sirius flew into a fit (the origins of which they have yet to unpack) that ended when he threw a handful of Pad Thai at Remus in what can only be described as the least fun food fight on record. Sirius stomped up the stairs, and Remus screamed after him – “did you really just throw _noodles_ at me, Sirius!?” – and this initial tussle gave way to six days of a drawn-out free-for-all over every single conflict they’ve had in the course of their lives and probably some that proceed their births, as well.

So now they sit, as far apart as two humans can possible be on two meter of sofa, each staring the opposite direction as if there is anything to look at on either end but painted drywall.

Riya has her work cut out for her today.

“Okay!” Riya says cheerfully as she settles herself into her armchair. She’s wearing a red-and-white polka dotted dress that looks far more cheerful than either Sirius or Remus feel. She smooths it over her lap with matching red fingernails and the quill on her end table poises itself to write. She looks at them as if the tension between them isn’t as thick and sharp as a blast-ended skrewt and says, “So what’s been happening this past week?”

Silence. The kind that comes from two primary school children who hope the other will be the one to get in trouble. Riya blinks at them, smiling with her red-lipsticked-mouth and, just like a seasoned nursery school teacher, waits.

Sirius (who got over his sit-quietly-and-say-nothing plan rather early on) huffs and crosses his arms. “It appears your treatment has not been working for us, _doctor_.” He says the last part through gritted teeth, as if Riya herself is directly responsible for their discord.

“That’s right, Sirius,” Remus responds under his breath, “blame everyone but yourself.”

“I’m not actually a doctor,” Riya says, still smiling. Both Remus and Sirius look at her. “I realize you were just being flippant, Sirius, I just didn’t want us to have any miscommunications.” Her voice is so light it’s almost singsongy. It makes Sirius and Remus both want to rip her head off, though Sirius would be the only one to ever admit it.

She takes a sip of the tea sitting on her end table. “So,” she says, “Sirius. What is it that makes you think therapy has not been effective for you and Remus?”

“Do you have to jump on every bloody thing I say?” Sirius shoots back, as if he’d said it in the first place for any other reason than to insult her. She hasn’t risen to the bait, and it annoys him, _offends_ him almost. “Didn’t realize we came here so you could _analyze_ us.”

“Oh?” Riya asks, _still smiling_ , damn her. “And what is it you thought you’d be seeing a psychoanalyst for, then?”

Touché.

“You’ll have to excuse my partner,” Remus says, speaking in the distinct way you do when the object of discussion is not within earshot. “He seems to think his infantile behavior is above reproach.”

“Oh now _that’s rich_ , isn’t it, Moony?” Sirius shouts, looking at Remus for the first time since they sat down. “Coming from a man who’s not eaten in two days just to spite me.”

Touché.

“Sorry, Remus,” Riya interrupts, “Why have you not eaten?”

“Because,” Sirius interjects, “I did the shopping this week and Remus is a proud, sanctimonious _twat_ who needs everyone to know that he–”

“I don’t _need_ your _pity_ , Sirius!”

“–can die of hunger all on his own, thank you–”

“I’ve not been hungry!”

“You’ve _not been hungry_. Tell me, Remus, how is it you mastered overcoming the human need for sustenance? Because I know a few witches who’d pay good money for those abilities.”

“Do you _always_ have to be so _sarcastic_!” Remus shouts, knowing full well he’s the more sarcastic of the two of them, present encounter included.

“Well at least I’m bloody _honest_!”

“Says the man who’s avoided any kind of emotional intimacy for _months_ now…”

A low blow.

“Says the man who’s avoided any kind of emotional intimacy for _decades_ now…”

A lower blow. 

“Well that can’t really be true, can it, Sirius? Since _one of us_ got _married_ and started a _family_ and it certainly wasn’t _you_ …”

Oops.

There are things you regret saying as soon as you say them. And then there are things you regret saying before the words even form into sound. This is the latter.

Remus places his head in his hands as soon as the words hit the air. He does this partially to cover the shame-blush creeping up his neck, and partially so that he will not have to see the look on Sirius’s face.

Sirius’s face, for its part, contorts into something unreadable, and that in itself is bad enough. Sirius is as easy to read as a cafe menu, every thought and feeling and desire plastered all over his sharp features like an advertisement for his current temperament. Right now, his eyebrows are raised and furrowed but his lips remain completely neutral. Something is sparking behind his eyes that might be tears or might be rage or might be both, and it flashes right through him, right through Remus’s hands and behind his eyelids, where it burns an image into his retinas like when you stare at a bright light for too long. Remus feels _bad_ , he does, but he’s also still angry and upset and he _resents_ Sirius for making him _say that_ and would Riya just bloody _say something_?!

Something odd has come along with aging or surviving a war or the particular type of peculiarity found only in a relationship between Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, because he just _said that out loud_ again and this phenomenon can no longer be considered a fluke.

At least he heard himself this time. Poor Riya’s taking a right beating from them today.

“Sirius,” she says finally, and at least has the decency to stop smiling, “What did you hear Remus say just now?”

Well now that’s an odd fucking question, innit? He only said it all of twenty seconds ago, and–

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

 _Fuck_. They should probably see someone about this.

“Sorry,” Sirius says. “Didn’t mean to say that out loud.” And then a deep breath, and a hard-fought moment of patience, “What _were_ you asking?”

“Often times,” Riya says, “We hear things in what our partners say that they didn’t intend, do you see? Often times, we hear a statement and we attach all sorts of meanings to it that aren’t necessarily there. So, I’m asking you to tell me – in your own words – what you heard Remus say just now.”

“I _heard_ him say that getting Tonks up the duff all of _half a year_ after I left is some sort of indication that he is more evolved than I am. I _heard_ him say that he never actually _intended_ to have a life with me, no matter...no matter _how_ many times he said he did. I _heard_ that we shouldn’t even fucking _be here_ because it doesn’t _matter_ what we do, I’m never going to be _good_ enough–”

“ _No_ ,” Remus cuts in, and Sirius is all set to go ahead and ignore him but Remus has placed one of his unusually large hands over one of Sirius’s inferior ones and it’s warm in a way that nothing is ever warm – in a _wolfMoonyRemuslove_ sort of way – so he pauses just long enough to see if Remus will put into words the things his fingertips convey so easily. “Sirius, no. _None_ of that…I… _Christ_ , Sirius, please, you can’t actually think…”

 _Of course he can_ , Remus’s intuition says all by itself. Sirius can climb the clock tower at Hogwarts without using a lick of magic, can figure out how to escape Azkaban when no one ever has, can make Baklava from scratch without even glancing at his great-grandmother's recipe, can do _anything_ so long as he wants it badly enough, so _of course_ he can think these things. Feel these things. Believe these things.

“ _Fuck_.” He meant to say it out loud this time. He grips Sirius’s hand harder. “Sirius, I…” And he doesn’t know what, exactly, except for the feeling of sinking, bubbling dread that rises from his stomach. “You can’t _imagine_ how much it hurts, Padfoot.”

Sirius looks up at him, big wet puppy dog eyes.

“What hurts, Remus?” It’s Riya that asks. It should have been Sirius, but it isn’t.

Remus tears his eyes away from Sirius and up to the ceiling, where he expects to see nothing and actually sees fluffy, painted clouds, moving slowly across the sheetrock sky. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice them before.

“Everything,” He says. “Just _everything_.” Tears start to well in his eyes. Or maybe the clouds have opened up and started dripping slow, salty rain onto his face. “When you left. When I thought you’d betrayed everyone we loved. When you came back. When you left again. When Tonks told me she was pregnant. When Teddy was born. When you weren’t…when you weren’t _there_ when my _son_ was born and it was supposed to be _us_ that made a family, Pads, and...all of it. All of it hurts _so badly_.”

Riya is looking at him and Sirius is staring at him and…and he’s _not done_ , damn it. He’s always curling in on himself, swallowing the words into the bottomless pit of his intestines and he’s _not done_.

“You walked right out of The Veil,” he’s staring back at Sirius now, raindrop tears falling freely, “Like nothing had happened. Like we could just start right where we left off, but you left me _alone_ , Sirius! There’s no one left and you’re so _proud_ , so bloody proud that you didn’t even think about me or Harry or…or _any of us_ , of how we’d feel when you up and got yourself bloody killed, and I had _no choice_ but to keep on, Sirius! I distracted myself with the only other person who bloody wanted me and I wanted _you_! I’ve only ever…and you just leave, Sirius. You just up and leave, like I’ll just go on surviving without you and I _had_ to make something new, Sirius! Don’t you understand? You left and there was nothing and if I didn’t create love from _somewhere_ I was going to…”

Remus doesn’t think he’s ever spoken this much in his life, certainly never so loudly, and he can hear the edges of his voice start to crackle and his throat start to go dry. He doesn’t finish his sentence, and he doesn’t have to. He sees the way Sirius’s features have contorted into _Remus Lupin don’t you say that_ and he knows he’s been heard.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says. And means it.

It hits Remus’s ear like a new language, because romance films aside, it is possible that Sirius has never actually said these words out loud. He says “I’m a prat” and “You shouldn’t put up with me” and even sometimes “I was wrong”, but to Sirius, love really _does_ mean never having to say you’re sorry, and he loves Remus an awful lot.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says again, rolling the words around on his tongue. “Moony, I… _I’m sorry_. For all of that. For putting you through that. For…” Shame creeps into his voice, “for not wanting you to have family that wasn’t me, Moony, I’m…I’m _really_ _sorry_.”

Remus always thought that if love means never having to say you’re sorry – and it’s rather a contrived sentiment, that – it could only be because love is knowing someone, and when you know someone enough to love them, apologies just float through the air unsaid. But that’s not true, because hearing Sirius say those two words is medicine, is spiritual Dittany. It seeps into his muscles and they unfurl from tensions they’ve held for decades. They unfurl like Padfoot does when he wakes from a nap – nose tucked under his tail – and in the center, unprotected now, there is something soft, smooth like caramel, caramel like Sirius’s skin and it’s so very, very sweet.

It’s automatic, the way Remus brings his lips to Sirius’s temple and kisses him there. They’re hip-to-hip on the sofa again, their bodies mindlessly moving towards each other even when they try to stay far apart. The kiss is a gesture, and it’s a concession, and it’s an acceptance of his apology. It is tender and sweet, where so little else has been tender and sweet, and so it is also a rejection of The Bad, a conscientious objection to The Ugly – a _“sorry, thank you, but no, we’ve decided to go another way”_.

“You’ll take Teddy to the beach and he’ll have a wonderful day with his mum and dad,” Sirius says. They haven’t filled Riya in on the Birthday Thing, but it’s okay, because they don’t need her right now anyway. They fixed this one on their own.

(Therapy patients. Always thinking they’ve discovered the solution on their own when you’ve led them right to it.)

Remus kisses Sirius’s temple again, and then rests his nose there, two-days-before-the-full-moon nose taking in Sirius Scent, _Eau de Sirius_ , the intoxicating blend he couldn’t describe if he tried. “No,” he says, high on it. “No, we’re going to have a party. We’ll plan it, you and I – Tonks won’t have to do anything – but…but we should take any excuse to celebrate life, yes?”

Sirius smiles and leans instinctively into Remus. “Yes.”

And just like that, New York snow. Hospital beds. Muggle films.

James always hated it when they’d fight, would oscillate between playing peacemaker and calling them both lovesick wankers. They made a big show of announcing their relationship to him, as if he hadn’t been sitting right next to them when they snogged each other’s lips off the first time, and he made them swear they’d always find a way to make up when they squabbled. It’s nice to know they’ve kept some of their promises.

**Week Nine: May 7, 2002**

Sirius takes a seat in one of the chairs in Riya’s waiting room and pushes a few strands of errant black-and-gray hair from his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the support, Moony,” He’s saying, “I’m just not sure sharing a single experience is enough of a reason to sit forty people in a room and expect them to talk to each other. Other than multidimensional time travel, we’ve _nothing_ in common.”

“What about that one gentleman?” Remus asks, sitting in the chair next to Sirius. “With the great-great…you know, with the relative Teddy’s age?”

“He’s 300 years old, Remus. Last week he asked me why I never wear justacorps. What the bloody _hell_ are _justacorps_?”

Remus laughs. “Dunno, Pads. Must be a rough adjustment for him, though, coming back to life in a completely different century from the one he left. We should invite him to tea.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and it’s all playful love, annoyance at Remus’s indiscriminate thoughtfulness and admiration for it at the same time.

“Come on in,” Riya says cheerfully at exactly 3 o’clock, opening her office door for them.

They’re both comfortable now with the whole therapy thing. Even Sirius – who nearly Obliterated Remus into forgetting they’d even scheduled their first appointment nine weeks ago – now sits comfortably on Riya’s sofa with his hand in Remus’s.

“So,” Riya says, sitting and folding today’s dress – bright yellow with a floral pattern – over her lap. “How was Teddy’s birthday party?”

“Bloody brilliant,” Sirius beams. “Face-planted right into the cake, the little monster.”

“He rather misunderstood the ‘blowing out the candles’ bit,” Remus expands, though he too is smiling. “He’s going to be a handful, that one.”

“Takes after his father,” Sirius says, and Remus smacks him playfully on the arm.

“And did you have a chance to think any more about what we talked about last week?” Riya asks, looking to Sirius.

Sirius groans, and Remus tries to hide a _slightly_ smug grin. “Yes. And…you’re right, both of you,” He pats Remus’s hand. “I don’t know if I’m ready yet, for…but I’ll try. I really will.”

“Wonderful,” Riya responds, her and Remus both trying to hide their satisfied smiles. “I’ll send you home with a list of individual therapists today. I’d like you to find someone who specializes in complex trauma.” She flicks her wand and the keyboard of the Muggle contraption on her desk begins typing on its own. She turns now to Remus. “And did you have a chance to practice what we talked about last week?”

Now Remus groans, and Sirius does absolutely nothing to hide his incredibly smug grin. “Yes. And it was awful.”

“It was not!” Sirius objects.

A few days before, (strictly on the advice of a trained professional, mind you, and not at _all_ because the thought of returning to therapy and telling Riya he hadn’t done what she’d assigned him made his palms sweat. And no, Remus doesn’t have an innate need to please authority, thank you very much. Stop saying that he does. Really, stop it. No seriously, shut up. FINE, okay? Maybe a little bit. It’s fine. Stop looking at him like that.) Remus stood in front of a mirror, Sirius’s head poking round the side, and painstakingly listed aloud five things he liked about himself. To _himself_. In a mirror. “Remus,” Remus said to Remus, “I like the way you…I mean, _we_ …I mean, _I_ …your hair looks alright today.” “That’s not really a compliment, Moony,” Sirius had responded, and then took over the task for himself for a while, which was not _strictly_ what Riya had prescribed but she didn’t say it _wasn’t_ allowed, so…

“Part of what fuels codependency,” Riya explains, again, “is an innate need for the approval of others.”

“I don’t _need_ appro–”

“If,” Riya continues right over Remus’s interjection, speaking a bit louder, “you can learn to give that to yourself, you can be more authentic with others.”

“I’m not _inauthentic_ –”

“And then maybe,” She carries on still, “You’ll be able to stop viewing things like couple’s counseling as evaluations of your innate worth.”

Remus opens his mouth like a trout and Sirius chokes on a laugh and Riya winks at him and it takes him a few moments, but he relaxes back into the sofa, into the feel of Sirius’s hand in his, and finds himself smiling just a little at the both of them.

“So, doc,” Sirius says, “What do you think – are we your most improved clients ever?” He flips his hair with mock-pride.

Riya laughs. “You’re certainly my most unique.”

And fuck, if _that_ isn’t the truth. Remus and Sirius don’t know it yet, but they’re going to spend the rest of today’s session talking about the strain of Remus’s Lycanthropy on their relationship and Riya is going to allow them exactly thirty seconds of indignation about how she could have _possibly_ figured it out.

Maybe, one of these days, she’ll even explain to them why she doesn’t take clients the day after a full moon.

Today’s session will be over in exactly forty-three minutes. But this time, really, no one’s counting.

**And Finally, A Gratuitous Narration of the Fringe Benefits of Couple’s Counseling (Not Sponsored)**

So, about that “homework”.

(And you thought I’d forgotten.)

Remus is standing over a pot of perfectly seasoned beef stew when Sirius comes up behind him and takes approximately 62% of Remus’s left arse cheek in his hand.

“Pads,” Remus says sternly and also very not sternly, “If you want supper any time before midnight, you have to let me finish this.”

“Sorry, Moony,” Sirius responds, and spins Remus around with deceptively strong arms. “Doctor’s orders.” He puts his tongue in Remus’s mouth and his hand in Remus’s pants and Remus _would_ object, honestly, but couple’s counseling _was_ his idea, after all, and, and…

“Vanish your clothes right now,” He growls into Sirius’s mouth. The shiver that moves through Sirius’s entire body is the only thing that precedes the swish of his wand, and then he is stark naked against a fully clothed Remus in the middle of their kitchen and it is worth every bit of _everything_ they’ve been through just to stand there and feel Remus’s eyes bore into his naked body like it’s a rare steak.

Remus’s eyes flash in that wolfish way Sirius will never, ever tell Remus about, and then Remus has lifted Sirius onto the counter. And then Remus has his teeth on the skin of Sirius’s neck that he exposes _so_ very willingly. And then Remus has his hand – so _bloody_ fucking big – around Sirius’s cock and is wanking him roughly and Sirius is smiling, just smiling, because it may be crude and it may be animalistic but they could fall through The Veil a hundred times each and they’d still fuck just as well.

Remus slides onto his knees and takes Sirius’s cock into his mouth with no warning or pretense or warmup, just swallows him whole. Sirius chokes on a sob of utter pleasure and throws his head back and bangs it into a kitchen cabinet and likes pain, anyway, so it’s fine. He runs his hand through Remus’s hair – which grew somehow both thicker and grayer while Sirius was gone – and moans each time Remus buries him in his throat. 

“Get up here,” He whines, and good relationships start with good listening so Remus let’s Sirius’s cock drop from his mouth – regretfully, but compromise is a necessary component of happy relationships as well – and Sirius pulls Remus's body close to his. He fumbles with Remus’s trousers just enough that he can wrap his hand around Remus’s cock. They suck each other’s lips and jerk each other off like sixteen-year-olds, and maybe _that’s_ why the sex works for them. Because all sixteen-year-olds want is to be loved without condition and to come without complexity.

They stroke each other and pant into each other’s mouths, and their lives are nothing but complexity now but they still say “come with me” at exactly the same time. They shoot into each other’s hands through waves of pleasure they’ll never be able to beat and when they say “I love you” it’s with the understanding that those three words will always be worth fighting for.

Sweaty and disheveled, they come down from their highs forehead-to-forehead. Sirius starts laughing first, and then Remus joins in. He places the gentlest little kiss to Sirius’s forehead and then picks up his discarded wooden spoon to see if he can salvage their dinner.

End. 


End file.
